Seeing Red
by ktfranceebee
Summary: An impromptu Spanish lesson during his second date with Carlos lets Cecil know how his gorgeous scientist feels about him. (Assuming Cecil and Carlos didn't make-out against the trees like teenage boys on their first date).


Disclaimer: Welcome to Night Vale belongs solely to the awesome creators and brilliant minds of Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor.

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**Seeing Red**

_by ktfranceebee_

"Rojo." The word was uttered in a simple manner from across the table, and it was enough to make Cecil pause while carving halfway through the delicate, albeit bloody, flesh of his single portobello mushroom.

"Pardon me?" he asked rather glibly, despite his squishy insides feeling less like functioning organs and more like they had been replaced with roving cockroaches.

"Rojo," Carlos repeated. _Carlos.._. His (and as it was their second date, Cecil no longer felt like such a dork for referring to Carlos in this sense) perfect Carlos—slicing through his red-drenched eggplant slices in a way that was so methodical that it could only to be attributed to a man of such utter perfection and such dedication to his work. It was apparent that Carlos didn't share his predilection for bloodied fungi and, instead, had opted for ordering the eggplant parmesan off the menu—sans the breadcrumbs. After all, the wheat and wheat by-products ban was still in place, which, in actuality, meant he was simply eating the limp vegetable drenched in a runny marinara and speckled with grated cheese.

"I'm… Not sure I…" Cecil began to articulate slowly as he furrowed his elegant eyebrows, but before he could finish his question, Carlos interrupted.

"You said I should give you Spanish lessons," Carlos stated, still not looking at him but, instead, inspecting the triangle segment from a perfectly sliced eggplant-round that he had stabbed with the prongs of his fork.

"Well…" Cecil paused once more to daintily wipe the coppery-tasting juice away from the corners of his mouth. Although, to be quite honest, it was more in an effort to collect himself rather than make himself look presentable. It wasn't a surprise that whenever his gorgeous, bronzed scientist was around, he lost his usual eloquence and poise that he was able to maintain (most of the time) on air. "I meant to imply that we could arrange a date and time in the future in a much more private location where such lessons could take place." Cecil knew, however, that he would be much better suited going to the Night Vale Community College for classes. At least that way he would actually learn something rather than stare absent-mindedly at his handsome _instructor._ But as he looked about the doorless room, he realized… Who was he kidding by making excuses? They were the only occupants. He just wasn't looking forward to making an even bigger fool of himself in front of Carlos than he already had.

_"Really, Cecil,"_ he scolded himself as he picked up his shiraz so dark in the crystal glass that it looked like liquid obsidian in the dimly lit room. _"This is what happens when you decide to take modified Sumerian in high school rather than Spanish." _ He took a calming swig.

"Come on," Carlos looked up as he set down his fork, a young, mirthful sparkle in those ebony irises. Cecil caught himself staring dumbly at the curl of jet-black hair that fell onto the man's forehead. He had to thank the Mighty Glow Cloud that the deceleration of time seemed to have no affect on the rate of speed that Carlos's gorgeous locks grew. "It's easy. Say it after me. Rojo."

"Ro… Ho," Cecil uttered lamely, staring at the way Carlos's lips puckered as he enunciated both syllables. Carlos laughed—a beautiful tinkling that made it difficult for Cecil to resist swooning despite wanting to crawl under the table in embarrassment.

"Again," Carlos said patiently, though he shifted in his seat in what seemed like barely-contained enthusiasm. When he smiled encouragingly, his perfectly white teeth shined like a beacon in the shadowy room. "But this time, try to roll the _r_ a little more."

"R… Rrr…" the slab of muscle for a tongue in his mouth felt foreign, like the tacky, stiff pieces of taffy old lady Josie use to give him when he was just a boy. But before he could make any valiant attempt at articulating the unfamiliar word, Carlos, who had been staring at him with a strangely amused look, leaned across the table and successfully silenced him with the soft, if not resolute, press of the lips to his own.

Cecil positively melted in his stiff-backed chair. He gripped the edge of the table with his spindly fingers as he felt himself leaning forward indolently into the kiss, moaning lightly into the stillness of the room.

And then the kiss was over as soon as it began, and Cecil let his eyes flutter open as he remembered how to breathe. He slumped back into his chair when he saw Carlos picking up his fork like nothing had happened—like he had taken the town's motto to heart like a true Night Vale citizen and completely forgot what he had done. But then, much to his surprise , Carlos spoke up.

"Yeah," Carlos said with a chuckle as he pushed up the sleeves to his lab coat so that they wouldn't be stained by the vibrant sauce. "We are definitely going to need more than one night if you want to be proficient in Spanish."

Cecil couldn't help but smile (though mostly in relief) himself.

"So…" Cecil gulped when the word came out in a higher register than. "What does that mean anyway? _That_ word," he clarified. He wasn't about to revisit that horrid attempt in articulation. Carlos smiled as he resumed cutting into his sodden eggplant. He didn't look at him.

"Red." He took a bite of his food and chewed it slowly.

"The same color of your cheeks whenever you're embarrassed… Or whenever I'm in the room, really," Carlos added in an afterthought. "The same color of your lips after I kiss them." The corner of his shapely mouth twitched. The fact that he didn't have to look at Cecil to know that his cheeks were ablaze made it difficult for him not to hide his face in mortification.

"In other words…" Carlos continued, flashing him a gleaming grin. "Perfecto."

_Perfecto_… Cecil bit his lip, trying not to smile. Now that was a word he was familiar with in any language.

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**_Ahhh! Sorry for the cheesiness. *hides* Not my first time writing fic, but my first and most valiant attempt at writing Cecilos. Hope you enjoyed it. And thanks to kyoryupantsu on tumblr for expressing their wishes for this fic idea on tumblr. I felt so inspired and hopefully I did your prompt justice!_**


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